


The Mark of Lassie

by FruitfulMind



Category: Psych, Supernatural
Genre: Crossover, I'm now thinking of Shawn just becoming Dean's #1 fan, while Gus is Sam's
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-15 18:04:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5794399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FruitfulMind/pseuds/FruitfulMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something has been killing people in Santa Barbara, and for the first time, it's not just people killing people. However, when two FBI agents stroll in to town, it all seems a little skeptic for Shawn Spencer.</p><p>When Sam and Dean Winchester arrive in Santa Barbara, the brothers expected to just kill the monster of the week and move on. They don't expect a familiar face, or to suddenly be tracked down for a crime they didn't commit (again). What happens when both parties are mistakened?</p><p>Chaos, a few laughs, new friendships, and Dean still not getting his pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Can anyone tell me why two FBI agents are here over a cougar attack?” The tall detective with a short and neatly trimmed cut asked. He didn't need to spare a second glance at the eavesdropping duo beside him to know they were Shawn Spencer and his accomplice, Gus.

Shawn remained uncharacteristically quiet as he watched the two men introducting themselves to Cief Vick. His excellent eyes glanced at the IDs; no way they were real. Something about this whole thing screamed unnatural. Like a low budget buddy cop movie, except both men could be models.

“Hey Jules, do you think that guy has better hair than I do?” Shawn asked, squinting very profoundly at the FBI duo. Okay, notch. Both had PERFECT looks. But the one whom caught Shawn's eyes looked as if he had just came out of a L'oreal commercial! Either way, there was no way with those two in town he'd have any luck with the ladies.

“Spencer." Lassiter growled out Shawn's name. "We don't have time for these shenanigans.” His brows furrowed, looking at his partner, Juliet. “I knew that case smelt fishy." He continued with a certainty. "There is no cougar in California that would leave a bite mark that large."

Shawn grinned, his eyebrows waggled with impish delight. “Fishy? Lassie, do yemember what happened last time you questioned a certain animal of the sea--"

Lassiter didn't turn around. “I swear to god, if you mention that one more time, I will shoot you.” He almost smiled at the silence that fell after.

When the two FBI agents left, Shawn was finally able to pull Gus away. “Hey, did you get a load of those Ids?” His eyes moved around as he asked. They caught the sight of a sleek car pulling out of the parkibg space and driving down the road.

Some didn't share the same conspiracy theory as Shawn did, however. “Those were real badges, Shawn.” Gus was disinterred in getting in trouble with the government. Especially not after the last time.

Shawn rolled his eyes, exhaling with a light noise. “Psh. Sure, if we were in Delta Heat. Come on, Henriksen and Bishop? What kind of names are those? That one guy didn't even look Dutch!”

“Lance Henriksen isn't Dutch, Shawn. He's American.” He retorted. The car was safely far away from the both of them; the anxiety in Gus' chest settled down. He turned to say something to Shawn, but noticed he was missing. He saw Shawn's familiar hair disappearing behind a plant. “Where do you think you're going!” He quickly whispered to his friend. " _He is seriously not thinking of sneaking in there!_ " Gus watched as _of course_ Shawn was already moving into the room that Vicks, Juliet, and Lassiter were discussing upcoming cases.

"Shh!” Shawn whispered. He stood on his tippytoes to hide behind the blinds, then making his way behind a fern to disguise himself. Listening in to the conversation, his eyes searched Chief Vick's desk. There were folders and folders of cold case animal attacks, all from around the state, saying cougar. Wolf. Bear. He turned to Gus, mouthing, "Either Yogi Bear has been pissed off countless times, or... I think we're being hired.”

 

**Elsewhere:**

Sam watched his brother from the corner of his eye. The only sound since their visit to the SBPD had been the hum of the impala. Dean hadn't even fought with Sam on what tune they should play. As the car bounced over a bump in the road, Sam held onto the dashboard; that was the final straw. He had to get to the bottom of it. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Sam finally asked.

It was like Sam's voice broke Dean from his trance. With a shake of his head, Dean's foot let up on the gas. But he said nothing, his eyes listlessly drifting from Sam's reflection in the windshield, then back on to the road.

Sam's heart grew heavy with dread. Almost grimancing, he spoke again. “You've been silent since the police station. What is it?” If it wasn't what they dealt with constantly, Sam would say it looked as if Dean saw a ghost.

Automatically, Dean replied, “What? Nothing.”

"I thought we weren't going to keep secrets from each other again, Dean." Sam said, his tone more worried than angry. "After what happened last time..."

There was a silence between the two brothers. Dean knew he couldn't keep it hidden much longer from Sam. As his hands tightened their grip on the 1 and 11 o'clock, his gaze faltered from the road. “You remember Cain?”

Sam's eyebrows rose. That was a really peculiar question. “As in... Cain and Abel? Sure I do, it's in the bible.”

Dean throatily laughed at his brother's answer. He wettened his lips and swallowed hard. “You saw the guy who looks like he scares kids for a living?” He chuckled at Sam's sudden look.

There was one intimidating man that Sam recalled. He looked seasoned, and like he wasn't afraid to shoot anyone who wronged him. “Sure“Sur I did. He works there." Sam's confusion sounded in his tone, accompanied by the look on his face. "What does this have to do with anything?” It wouldn't take an outsider to notice Dean's sudden lack of confidence; the way his hands gripped the steering wheel, the way his shoulders lowered. They were all telltale signs. “Take your time,” Sam told him.

Dean thought if he kept driving, then the road would clear his thoughts. Then maybe he wouldn't seen so crazy to Sam. A couple miles down the road, he finally found the right words to say. “That was Cain.”

You could hear a pin drop in the deafening silence of the car. Neither one of them dared breathe a word edgewise. Sam was just trying to decipher what Dean had said. There had to be a double meaning, right? "That... was Cain?" When Dean's nod confirmed his suspicions, the shock numbed Sam. He stared out as the road, just as his brother had been doing. “Wasn't Cain suppose to be older? Y'know, with a big black beard?”

Dean hummed lightly under his breath, nodding. "Yeah, he's suppose to. Unless he forgot to touch up his roots." With new found energy, Dean tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “Look, I'm not saying it IS the guy." His eyes returned to the road as he steadily inhaled. "He looks like him. Almost acts like him."

“I thought Cain killed himself in that demon attack?” Sam said with uncertainty.

“He did, that's the thing!" Dean slowed down the car at a stop sign. "The last I saw of him? Boom. Demons. Everywhere.” Dean made the motion of an explosion before pressing the gas pedal.

Sam made a face at Dean's description, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Cain's story wasn't over yet. There were still questions though. Like why Cain would pose as a detective made or why he had such a nonchalant reaction to seeing Dean or Sam. Maybe he was a good actor? None of it was adding up; more info would be needed. His name and date of birth would be a good idea, maybe even his social security card to see if it added up.

Garth had dropped off the radar months ago, so that left Sam wondering who they could call for the infornarion. They might even have to hack the police systems. Sam looked at the road, his eyes cloudy with the wonder and doubt as to who -- or what -- they were facong. “Okay Dean. We can find a motel, get some sleep, and start from there.”

Happy with the idea of a pit-stop, Dean nodded. The the sound of the Impala rumbled down the road, mixing with the other noises of Santa Barbara.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Sam continue their search for who exactly Carlton Lassiter is; Shawn and Gus do a little research of their own.

They left at the break of dawn, the cool air still hanging in the rather humid city. Dean's hands still grasped at the steering wheel as it became slick with anxious terror. Turning down another stretch of road, he gave a short huff of breath. Maybe driving would clear his mind and kill some time. Maybe the road would explain why the man looked so eerily familiar, maybe it would help Dean think.

 

Sam frowned heavily as he tried to think also how exactly the Cain, the Cain who gave him this mark, this curse, the same Cain they were trying to explain, was in Santa Barbara of all places. “Dean?” He began, clearing his throat, “Why would Cain pose as an officer?” He thought back to last night's conversation. “It doesn't make any sense. Maybe they just... look similar.” Yeah, when did something that normal ever happen to them?

 

“I don't know, I don't.... I don't know.” Dean repeated to himself, the words becoming white noise to his ear. He felt the blood pumping to his ears as he thought, tried to explain even to himself, as to why the officer looked so similar to the Biblical figure himself. “I don't think Cain's got a twin brother. Or even a doppelganger.”

 

“Could be a shapeshifter,” Sam replied, his face serene from the realization. “Let's check with Jax. He has a place not too far from here.” He nodded. His eyes glanced down a stretch of road leading to a housing development. “We'll check it out. Maybe he knows.”

 

The silence in the car unnerved both brothers, as neither one of them could shake the feeling it wasn't a shapeshifter. And by a moment of brotherly connection, they could tell the other felt the same way. But what could be said of what they knew? The two needed proof. Proof that maybe only Jax had.

 

In a quiet, serene little suburb of Santa Barbara lived one old, and tough as nails hunter, by the name of Jax Dosner. He was in his late 40s, beard already beginning to gray at his relatively early age. While most thought it was stress from a working childhood, and others thought he dyed it to appear much more mature than he actually was, both were blatant lies. The truth of the matter was he'd seen some shit for too many years, too many years spent running around in tunnels, in graveyards, and haunted buildings had left it's mark on him. Plenty of other things left their mark as well, if his face had a story to tell; heavy scars sagged on his skin, ragged where it snagged and tore.

 

On this particular day, he was talking on the phone, chatting it up with a close work buddy, and friend, on the force. “I'm telling you, ain't no rookie taking my ranking. You and me both know that, Gearson. Now what about you...” He joked with the other officer, a bottle of Jack Daniels being nursed in the opposite hand as he relaxed into his recliner. He chuckled at the profuse grumbling of the other, earning another laugh. “Right, right, how about the time....” He heard the doorbell ring as he sat up slowly, “I'll need to call you back. Tell the missus I said hi.” He replied before hanging up the phone back on the nook, gradually getting up from the chair, he made his way to the living room. There was another chime as the doorbell rang; whomever it was, it was urgent. Hopefully it wasn't another salesman, looking to sell his some amazing new vacuum cleaner. They were too frequent nowadays, and his own paranoia warned him they may be demons, maybe even werewolves; but they were worse: salesmen.

 

“Coming....” He called, one finger pushing the blinds against the window. Two men were outside, one taller both in height and hair; the other looked familiar, he swore he'd seen him before, maybe on a case. A memory of Jax's old drinking buddy surged, the man talked about two brothers -- real “nice boys” as he called them, but also “idjits” in another breath; it had to be the Winchester boys, the infamous duo in the hunting committee. He took hold of the door knob, giving a tug as his eyes peeked around, the lock held taut as it was tugged too far. “Can I help you boys?”

 

Sam was the first to speak, nearly interrupting Dean, “Jax Dosner?” He asked, already he adopted his FBI persona voice. Maybe it was habit, or maybe precaution. He stood taller, more professional beside Dean, who looked on to his little brother, impressed. Jax's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at the two buffoons stood in front of him.

 

“You kids know it's illegal to imitate a police official, don't you?” Jax's words were slurred from his deep, thick, and Californian accent.

 

Dean looked to Sam, his brows furrowed slightly as he looked ahead at the older hunter. Dean noted how clean the man's clothes were and how exactly gray the hairs on his beard had gotten. He felt a soft pang in his stomach, but ignored it, green eyes hardening, “Are you going to arrest us?” He bit back to the hunter. The hunter in question glared at the boy in question as he straightened up.

 

Momentarily, he towered over Dean. “Back in my day, hunters were suppose to call before they made house calls. Common courtesy.”

 

“Desperate times,” Dean said curtly, “we're here about a case.”

 

Sam added in, shoulder to shoulder with Dean, a look to his brother. He cleared his throat awkwardly, feeling the tension in the air. “We were, uh... We were hoping you had anything to help us.”

 

Jax sighed. “Ain't it ever just comin' to see if I'm still kicking?” He all but joked, a look over his shoulder. “Ya got all but five minutes. I don't like what I hear, you're gone.”

 

The brothers thanked the man, both failed to notice Jax's sigh of relief as they passed the door mat with ease. The door shut with a soft clunk.

 

**Elsewhere:**

“I don't understand why you need to drag me along, Shawn!” Gus groaned, his head was deep in a book, in the other hand, a smoothie.

 

Shawn was himself busy, but with the laptop in hand, “Because who else can I trust but you! Besides.” He mumbled as he sipped his own smoothie, “I told your boss that your sister-in-law was in labor.”

 

“You did what?!”

 

Shawn rose a free hand from the keys, the palm facing towards Gus. “Relax,” he drawled on, followed by a long sip, “We'll just say it was a false alarm, besides,” he said, eyes looking up from the screen, gleaming with joy, “We got the smoothies you love so much.” Returning back to to his search with leg bouncing under the desk, reveling in the delicious serenity. Mmm, pineapple smoothie, a sure-fire way to start the day!

 

Gus looked compliant for a second as he sipped his own, “With my money,” he added, he looked into the book perched on his lap. “I still don't understand why you're searching up bear attacks. I did the research for my last company camping trip, did you know that cougar attacks are surprisingly rare? Same goes for bear attacks.”

 

He earned a groan from the psychic, whose arms were nearly over his head, and in turn, his smoothie. “Why do you take something so cool, and turn it into something so boring!”

 

Gus sent him a hard glare, still sipping away his smoothie. “They aren't boring, Shawn. Statistics can be fun,” Gus replied, his gaze down to the book. “Those were _not_ bears.” He did his best to ignore Shawn's eyeroll, instead focusing on his own work.

 

Shawn was almost done his smoothie, using his free hand to clack away at the laptop's keyboard. “ _Duh_! But Lassiter isn't going to believe that. And neither is Chief Vick. We need evidence!”

 

His friend hummed with agreement as he continued to read, although Gus couldn't shake the feeling about the men from the precinct. Shawn said they weren't who they said they were – he wasn't always right, Gus remembered. But he wasn't always wrong, and in some strange way, other times he was proven right in the end.

 

He just hoped they wouldn't get pulled into another crazy adventure.

 

 **Elsewhere** :

“You're telling me there's werewolves in California.” Jax mentioned, sat in the living room with the other two. The three of them sat around the coffee table, coasters in place for drinks. “And I thought it was bad enough with the banshee attack three months ago--”

 

Dean's eyes widened, his mouth gaped open as he stared at the senior. “ _Banshee_?” He replied incredulously, fists white against the arms of the chair. There was a momentarily gleam of excitement in his eyes, one quickly snuffed out as Sam shot a look in his direction.

 

“Really?” Sam mouthed to him. Dean looked abashed, shrugging lightly. Jax nodded, and took the time to sip his tea.

 

“Yeah, horrid ugly thing. Targeted a young girl. Some guy came around to deal with it.” He explained as he watched the two. “Don't know if you two noticed, but I'm retired.” He did his best to ignore the ignorant look of the eldest hunter. “I don't do that shit anymore – especially werewolves.”

 

The other, younger Winchester did his best to ignore the scar on Jax's cheek. He coughed and put his drink down instead. “We're not asking your help for that. There's someone we need information on; a police officer in Santa Barbara?” Sam noticed the pique in interest, and a nod from the other. “A um...” They hadn't found his name out, all they had was a description of the man. “He's... tall.”

 

Dean couldn't help but almost almost laugh. “Yeah, and butt ugly.” The man didn't look like he had the faintest clue who they meant. “Buzz-cut hair, real big ears; generally a sour, scary looking dude.” The corner of Jax's lips curved in a smirk, and Jax shook his head.

 

“I know full well who you're talking about, boy.” He replied, shifting the weight from one of his legs to the other. “Detective, not a cop. Carlton Lassiter. Best detective on that force.” Sam shifted as well, his actions mirrored the others.

 

“What can you tell us about him?”

“He got some beef with you two? Bad blood?”

 

“Nada – just curious about the guy.” Jax wouldn't trust Dean as far as he could throw him (and he'd thrown bigger guys than him farther) and he sure the hell didn't buy the “we're only just curious” story. But this was their business, not his own. “He's not the best detective I've seen, but he's up there.” Fingers stretched around his glass. “And he's no bad cop either. Hell, man would arrest anyone who came with a proposal.”

 

“So he's a good cop?” Sam asked, earning a snort in response.

 

“Hell no, guy's got no people skills; but he sure as hell won't let any do the law wrong. Shoot first, ask questions later.” The brothers looked at each other, this didn't sound like Cain's M.O. at all. “He's been on the force since he was young. I'd know if something was wrong with the boy.”

 

“Guy sounds like he puts the ass in badass, huh Sam?” Dean joked. No one laughed.

 

Time slowly ticked on by as the brothers gathered as much information as they could from the ex-hunter. There wasn't a whole lot of supernatural happenings in the town, unless you counted the amount of murders that took place in it. But those were human on human, no supernatural forces.

 

“Worst supernatural being we got here is Spencer's son.” Jax said, collecting the glasses on his way to the kitchen.

 

The name intrigued Sam; he was sure he heard it somewhere. “Spencer?” Sam was the first to ask. The water sounded from the opposite room as Jax continued to wash the dishes.

 

“Shawn Spencer – Course, his father's Henry Spencer; best cop I've ever seen. You might run into him,” He mentioned, his head peeked past the kitchen door. “Shawn's a 'psychic' for the Santa Barbara Police.”

 

If Dean was drinking, he would have his drink all over him and the table. “They have a _psychic_?” He hardly believed the words coming out of the man's mouth. Dean and Sam had dealt with a fair amount of psychics; some had the gift, while others were just hacks. “That's just rich.” He chuckled out.

 

“I didn't believe in it myself – still don't. Kids got something, loudmouthed though; brought him in once for disruptive behavior.” The man finished up on the dishes, his body now leaned on the doorway leading to the living room.

 

Both brothers agreed the guy sounded like a real party boy tool. There wasn't much that made them suspicious of the man, though Dean was more than a little curious of his supposed psychic powers. The sun was beginning to set, a slight pink glow on the horizon outside. It wouldn't be long until whoever was targeting the victims to be on the prowl, they'd need to work fast before there was another name added to the list. The brothers said their goodbyes to Jax as they excused themselves. Headed back to the impala, Dean couldn't shake the feeling they'd be running into psychic again.

 

“Hey Sam, maybe I'm psychic.” Dean joked with Sam. Clearly, Sam had no sense of humor today, telling the other to shut up.

 

**Elsewhere:**

 

The psychic and his accomplice were still hard at work, though the two switched on their methods of information. Gus had the laptop in hand, while Shawn shifted through books and old newspapers, trying to find something to help with the case. Their smoothies were long since abandoned, and Shawn was considering ordering some take-out; anything to get him away from reading. Besides, he didn't need an eye for details to realize the bear attacks in the books didn't look even remotely similar to the victims!

 

Gus was actually enjoying himself on the laptop, having taken to searching old stories on anything remotely similar to what was happening in Santa Barbara. As much as Shawn would call him a nerd, he happened to enjoy learning. Even if it was stuff he'd already searched for, it was still something. Gus still was miffed at Shawn for lying to his boss however.

 

Right now, he was searching for the two that had come into the precinct earlier. Gus didn't have much to search for though, instead he had to do his best searching the net. He couldn't believe most of these though.

 

“Who the heck are the Ghostfacers?” He'd asked Shawn, disbelieving someone would have a name _that_ terrible. They were the closest he could find to a testimonial or clue of the two agents. “And who are...” He listened again, unsure if he heard their names correctly. “Dean and Sam Winchester?”

 

Shawn shrugged, a grin tugged on his cheeks. “Sounds like a good cover band for the Ghostbusters theme though.” Gus did his best to ignore that. “Winchester, huh? Ain't there a gun named after them?”

 

“I really doubt they've had a gun named after them, Shawn.” Gus retorted. “That gun was made in the 60's, at least!” He typed their names into the search bar with a quickened pace. Ghosts, of all things leading them to the guys' identity, it had to be ghosts; one of the many things Gus couldn't deal with.

 

His eyes read over the links. Most were about the gun ( _go figure_ ), but some of them were a little more in-depth. Especially the online news articles. They were dated a few years back, but they names were listed. Dean Winchester and Sam Winchester's to be exact. What did they do exactly? Gus really did not want to find out, he didn't even want to do this in the first place! But they needed the money, and Chief Vick _had_ enlisted them on this case.

 

So he clicked the link. As he waited for the page to load, he once again felt regret running through him, wondering how exactly he let Shawn drag him on this. He had better things to do! The page finally had loaded, Gus began to scroll down. He took in the words, reading slowly to comprehend what the man had done--

 

“Oh... my... God!” He all but shrieked out across their office, the laptop nearly thrown off the desk as he pushed back the chair from with as much force as he could muster. His shriek alerted his friend, who lifted his head as well from the book, eyes wide, confused and terrified.

 

“What's wrong Gus?!” Shawn shouted, flinging the book overly zealously. He was being dramatic, but so could Gus in these situations. “Has someone died?! Was it Kurt Smith?!” He rose his hands to his chest, almost vaulting over the chair to see what his friend saw. Shawn looked worried. Gus was freaking out more than he normally did, but this time he didn't jump from his chair and run out the front door, leaving one very confused psychic in his wake. Instead, Gus sat glued to his chair, eyes wide as if they were about to bulge out of his skull, his finger shaking and pointing to the laptop screen.

 

“Shawn...” He squeaked out, fear in his tone. His body began shaking from it. “They're the murders from California!” Right next to the text of the article was a photo of Dean and Sam Winchester!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Shawn and Gus's new knowledge, Dean and Sam have a new challenge to face: the SBPD. Along with them? Lassiter. How will they react, coming face to face?

Both Shawn and Gus didn't know how to react to seeing the photo staring back at them on the laptop, the screen showing them the supposed murderers, Dean and Sam Winchester, although they looked younger than the men they'd seen yesterday. Both Shawn and Gus didn't know how to react, so they did what any self-respecting man passing thirty would do.

 

They ran around the office, screaming their heads off and flailing their hands about in fear. Mostly, it was who Gus ran around and screamed, while Shawn followed suit. It seemed like the most reasonable thing to do, given that less than one day ago, the duo had been about a good few foot away from the other.

 

“What are we going to do, Shawn?! They are serial killers; I am _NOT_ going to die!” Gus shouted through panted breaths, as he half leaned over the trash can, his hand on the wall beside. He straightened up, trying to control himself. “We have to tell Juliet and Lassiter!” He seemed to become reasonable, although still deeply unnerved; all his senses were telling him to run, and his senses were normally right.

 

Shawn didn't know exactly what to do. He knew he had to tell the police force about these two. If he didn't, there was no knowing how the future may pan out. They could be casing the precinct, trying to find a way in! On the other hand, they could also just be trying to find the answers to the animal attacks, like they were. Lassiter was right; why would the FBI be looking into animal attacks?

 

“Shawn!” Gus shouted again, still trying to catch his breath. He had grown accustomed to his spot over the trash can, from his spot over the trash can, bracing himself against the wall. His voice brought back Shawn to the present, however.

 

“Yeah dude,” he muttered, shaking his head. The two men hadn't looked like serial killers, although their hands looked worn, Shawn remembered. They had calloused hands, bruised knuckles, and looked like they could take on anyone in a cage match. But they were also clean, well put together, and didn't seem socially awkward, like most thought serial killers were. It just wasn't adding up in Shawn's mind, his mind desperately was searching for clues, trying to find something to help.

 

What kind of serial killer duo would kill a guy, and then look at the camera to smile? Someone not in their right sense of mind, obviously. Shawn's head was pounding as he tried to figure out what to do – it was easy, after all, all they had to do was call Juliet, have a psychic premonition about their true identities, and everyone and himself would be safe. Easy, right?

 

**Elsewhere:**  
“Our window isn't that open, Dean.” Sam breathed out as he gazed on the board, looking over the attacks all across the county. Lately, the werewolf had been targeting Santa Barbara; it made sense with all the murders, Sam thought. Things seemed to happen here that didn't seem to make sense. “We only have a select few hours before sunset,” he explained as he checked their guns.

 

Dean couldn't help but agree with his brother. They didn't have a lot of time before the werewolf would be on the prowl again, and they didn't realize how long it would take to get on it's trail again. His breath had stopped, along with his thoughts. It all made sense now, about their true mission. It wasn't finding Cain-- well. It was about finding Cain and removing the mark on Dean's arm, but this road-trip had went on long enough. The mark was itching for more blood, and although Sam would be against it, Dean couldn't survive long without it.

 

“Dean?” Sam asked, his voice full on concern. A hand led on Dean's shoulder, squeezed tightly on it. Dean shook his head, shining an award-winning smile to his little brother.

 

“I'm fine, Sammy!” Dean exclaimed, slinging the bag used for supplies over his shoulder. “Feeling peckish is all, think I should head to the store. Pick up some supplies.” He waggled his brows, that usually threw his brother off from asking any further. Just like clockwork, the younger brother shot him a look of disdain, irritation and just a little disgust. The 'Sammy face' as Dean 'lovingly' called it; Sam hated it.

 

He did however, chuckle at Dean's antics as he shoved his dirty shirt into a bag with a little too much force. “You're impossible,” he told Dean with a shake of his head. Sam checked his watch once more, earning a promise from his brother.

 

“I'll be back right away. You're gonna hardly realize I'm gone!”

 

Sam doubted that. It'd be quiet, for sure. He loved Dean like a brother, but they had various different interests. “Right. I'll finish up with the research,” he replied. Sam didn't have too much more to do, but it would be better than just waiting for his brother to return.

 

“You keep your nose in that book way too long.” Was the last words the two had shared with each other. Dean shut the door of the impala, her engine purring to life as he drove away.

 

**Elsewhere:**  
Maybe it was a bad idea to call Juliet about the guys – er, murders. After all, she had more than enough on her plate about the recent animal attacks ( _although_ it was technically ar FBI case, her partner had other ideas) and another murder (not bear-attack related) that they already had in custody; the man had apparently been waiting for this for months. Shawn figured there were a lot of things she'd rather be doing: going with him for dinner, to be exact. But on this rather sunny day, she was inside, processing information as fast as she could.

 

“Shawn, I don't know...” She said, chewing lightly on her lip. She was the one who answered the call, Shawn had called her. But this? Of all things Shawn had ever judged as the culprit... this took the cake. “Are you _sure_?” Uncertainty clouded her judgment.

 

His chest puffed up as she doubted him (and no doubt wounded his ego). “Jules! Are the Black Eye Peas Maryland's state band?” There was no doubt her face was as confused as the question had made her. Shawn's chest was still puffed, doing his best to stay cool in front of Juliet; he was freaking out as much as Gus was right now.

 

His friend leaned in closer, already ready to correct him. “Uh... Shawn, you're thinking of black-eyed Susan,” Gus whispered, hand cupping over his mouth. “And they're Maryland's state flower.”

 

“That... that doesn't seem right.” Shawn answered back with a shrug. The both of them would start arguing (was it arguing?) if she didn't interrupt.

 

“Guys!” Juliet's stern voice did little to settle the two men who were fighting and freaking out. “These guys--”

 

“Murderers.”

 

She sighed. “ _Murderers._ ” Shawn nodded at her correction, her body shifting to sit up. “Dean and Sam Winchester have been dead for years.”

 

“Then how do you explain a dead man entering!” Shawn exclaimed dramatically, almost shoving the photo in Juliet's face. He saw his friend beginning to pale and panic once again.

 

“Gus, Gus! I'm about 99% sure he's not a zombie.”  
“What about the 1%?!”  
“That... that I'm not too sure-- I'm joking!”

 

Gus's hands were moving a mile a minute as he began to all but shout at Shawn in his panicked frenzy, the other apologizing profusely, still trying (and failing) to hide his laughter.

 

She took the picture from the desk, overlooking it again. It was a picture of Sam and Dean Winchester, she did recall two men entering the police precinct, if only for a few seconds; Shawn had weirder culprits, she reminded herself. It wasn't implausible that the two had faked their deaths, just as it wasn't impossible that the two men only looked like the wide-spread killers. She put down the photo, beginning to type into their database for the two men.

 

“California, Wisconsin, Missouri... Iowa.” She read off their latest hits in a hushed whisper, eyes widening. These two had been all over the US, and still had time to stop by in Santa Barbara? “Numerous identity frauds and thefts...” This would have to go to the chief, and no doubt her partner would want a piece as well.

 

“See!” Shawn gushed, pointing his finger towards Juliet. His eyes sparkled with a fire that she hadn't seen before.

 

It was settled: she'd bring it towards Chief Vick – and hopefully not get laughed out of the precinct.

 

**Later:**  
“You're telling me, Mr. Spencer, that a psychic vision has led you to this?” Chief Vick asked the two men, staring them down at her table. Gus stood tall, only nervously fidgeting a _bit_.

 

“A big one.” Shawn replied, massaging his forehead. Lassiter rolled his eyes; there was no doubt Shawn was making this all up. Shawn moved another hand towards the stack of papers, almost tossing them over in the process. “Ooh... the spirits are telling me they're... they're travelers.” His mind roved back to the license plate on their car: Kansas. “Lost, lost travelers...”

 

“They had asked Deputy Digger for the locations of the animal attacks--”

 

“Exactly!” He shouted again, interrupting Juliet. He shot her an apologetic look.

 

“What are the spirits saying? Catch the men who murdered us?” Lassiter sarcastically asked. Although he wouldn't mention it, his finger was itching to pull the trigger; a pair of wanted men? This was just what he needed!

 

Chief Vick closed her eyes. “If you can find proof that these are our men... then yes.” It took everything Shawn and Gus had not to do a victory dance right in her office; they opted for the fistbump and silent 'yes!' instead.

 

There were plenty of traffic cameras located all around Santa Barbara: some closer to the city, others on highways, toll roads, and some near the outskirts. It seemed almost impossible that they would find the one. Luckily for the duo, Shawn recalled the direction they were heading in: east. There were five different traffic camera he could think of. Any of them could be the one that would lead them to Dean and Sam's location. He had Juliet run the license plate as well, hoping they weren't fake tags and their location could be found.

 

Every second ticking down on the clock was another second they could have lost the duo, lost another life, lost someone they cared about. But each second that ticked, was how closer they were getting to finding them. Shawn and Gus gave each other a look as they sat down for another watch over, their eyes joining Juliet's.

 

“ **STOP!** ” Shawn shouted out, slamming the pause button with such force, his thumb throbbed from impact. Gus jumped back in chair. “That's the car; that's them!” Shawn said, his thumb now against the screen: a black impala, zooming by on the street, barely seen in the dark screen of night. Juliet's heart jumped to her throat, her hand coming down to press her walkie-talkie and give confirmation.

 

Within hours, thanks to Shawn's help, they'd found the location of the Winchesters and their car: a little motel close by. It took an hour, but they mapped out any places the Winchesters may go: shops, the sights--

 

“Places to dump bodies...”  
“That is _not_ helping” Gus said when Shawn brought it up.

 

Juliet's hand brushed on the steering wheel, a nod of confirmation to her partner. She smoothed down her skirt as she watched the store like a hawk. It wouldn't be safe, but they needed to find these men, and survive doing so.

 

**Elsewhere:**  
The road to the store was clear, clearer than the road had been before. Dean's mind was clouded, the thoughts of Lassiter still not leaving. They trusted Jax, but how far could they trust the hunter? It didn't sit right with Dean: the man, the police force, and how _human_ the man who looked like Cain was.

 

Human. Jax had said he was human, the man seemed human; maybe that's what unsettled Dean. How many times have they thought a person was human before they uncovered some dirty secret about them? Supernatural beings had the knack of being able to pose as humans. If they studied them closely enough, anyone could pass as one. Even Dean. The mark on Dean's arm burned brightly, a reminder of how inhuman he had become.

 

His eyes locked onto the burning light of the store's front. It was a small mom and pop style store, the warring bricks any indicator. The parking lot was barren, bar one or two cars parked up front. Dean chose the farthest from the front as he could go, clearing his mind before he got out of the car. His hands finding their way into pockets, a jingle of a bell as he entered. The cashier made no indication of registering his entrance, deeply engrossed with a newspaper. Dean liked the stores that didn't welcome every customer, it was easier just to get in and out.

 

Walls and walls of every frozen food known to man greeted Dean, his greedy and hungry eyes roving over them. Pot pies, chimichangas, even little frozen pies (the ones he normally hated) were placed tantalizingly behind the cold, glass case. He began piling as much as he could into his arms, moving down to the beverages aisle. One case of beer was normally enough for Dean, but Sam always needed at least a couple of bottles of water before he was pleased.

 

The bell of the store jingled again, Dean paying no mind to it. He was too engrossed in the prices, some of them were just ridiculous. He picked up a bundle of bananas, just starting to ripen. The footsteps down the aisles didn't alert the hunter. Not until they started nearing him, every arm on his neck and arms prickling in alert; something didn't feel right about it.

 

Just as quickly as they rounded around the corner, a female did as well. She was cute: not short, but not quite tall, long blonde hair tied in a ponytail, and a light glossing of lipstick. Dean bet her brains matched her looks – normally the cute girls had a wicked brain to match with, he couldn't say the same from the drop dead gorgeous women. But that was how he liked them; she could be Sam's type though. He smiled at her faintly, and she smiled back. It was tight-lipped, but kind.

 

“Looking for something good?” He asked, his flirty eyes twinkling in the faulty lighting of the store. The woman smiled back again, brushing a loose wisp of hair behind her ear. His breath caught in his throat.

 

“That depends,” she replied, looking over a box of pancake mix. Her eyes pretended to ghost over the nutritional value. “What do you think is best?” Her blue eyes met his, and the warm smile greeted her face, as well as her eyes. She wasn't used to doing this, especially to murderers.

 

A low, but grumbly chuckle erupted from Dean's chest, his teeth glinting pure white in his smile. “You've got to try their hot dogs. Worth it.” He joked with her, already picking up the last of his groceries. The store was barren except for the two of them – and the cashier, but he didn't seem to be paying the flirty duo any time.

 

Juliet smiled, rubbing her cheek as she considered for a moment if she should; Shawn and Gus might like one. “I'll have to think about that...” She pretended to think on it some more, instead playing with her cheek.

 

Dean nodded as he gathered his purchases in his arms, making his way up to the counter. Juliet followed hot on his tail, staying back a bit as not too seem too suspicious.

 

“Got a name?” She asked him, picking up a thing of coffee. Her eyes traveled up past Dean's leather jacket, onto the back on his neck. She saw the man physically stop, no doubt grinning as she stroked his ego just by speaking to him.

 

“Bit soon for names, ain't it?” He asked, keeping his eyes focused ahead. The muscles in his arms twitched, no doubt awaiting some big fight that Dean didn't know was coming. The woman behind him didn't seem to pay no mind. “You can call me Dean, baby.”

 

The nickname made Juliet's brow twitch, but her face burned bright for a second. “Dean.” She said, softer. Her eyes averted to the window leading outside. Her partner's side of the door was already opened, that much she could see. They must have gotten confirmation that this was Dean Winchester. “That's a strong name,” she said, walking closer. The closer she got to the man, the more she could see his face; there was no doubt. This was the man they were looking for – this was him!

 

“Well, I'm told it means something--”

 

“Hands above your head, don't move!” Lassiter's booming voice announced. The cashier's newspaper sailed across the counter, lying spread up on the floor. His hands went above his head, staring at the trio. “Not you!” Lassiter grumbled, already moving in on Dean.

 

Dean's eyes widened, his heart wildly beating in his chest as he stared back at Lassiter. Immediately, his palms became sweaty, and itchy. He tried his hardest to lift his arms above his head, but they too became jelly. Finally, he managed to say something, “Guess there's not going to be any hot dogs, huh?” He directed towards Juliet, winking at her.

 

“You're being arrested under suspicion of murder, Mr. Winchester,” she began, a swell of pride at Dean's downtrodden face. Her handcuffs came out, moving Dean's hands behind him as she pressed him against the counter. “Anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law.” She read his rights out to him, leading him outside to their car. There, Lassiter opened up the door, almost tossing Dean in. Dean stared out, back towards the road leading for the motel; he hoped Sam was alright.

 

**Elsewhere:**

Sam was having more of a night than he expected. Just after Dean left, there was a knock on the door. Sam slowly rose from the bed, towel in his hair as he strode across to it. He stayed silent, reaching for the pistol they kept hidden beside it. A skilled finger slowly undid the lock, letting it slide out of place with a gentle thunk. He gripped the knob tightly in hand as another knock sounded, this one rougher than the last. Adrenaline pumped through his veins as he opened it, peering into the dark unknown.

 

“Was hoping I'd see you here.” a masculine voice answered. Sam reared back in surprise, his eyes growing adjusted to the light. Jax was stood on the mat, his arms folded in front of his chest.

 

“ _Jax?_ ” Sam said, blinking a few times. Was what he was seeing real? “Is it really you?”

 

“No, I'm the tooth fairy,” the old man replied, a tired, old and haggard smile on his face. “Gonna let me in? Promise you I'm not possessed.” He nudged a foot off the mat, a tired light shining in his eyes. Sam nodded, a tight smile teasing onto his face. He moved out of the way for the other, though his free hand still grasped for that pistol.

 

Once the man entered into the room and became situated, Sam continued to watch him carefully. “What are you doing here?” Sam asked, staying near the window. He glanced out it a few times, every time he heard a car start up or pass, in fact.

 

It only seemed to irritate the aging man, who snorted once, his brows furrowed heavily. “Will you quit it, I wasn't followed!” He looked towards the desk which held silver bullets. “You're going for that werewolf. Aren't you?” His face was grave, and a thin sweat was beginning to build on his brown.

 

Sam didn't know how to reply. Of course they were, Dean and him had planned since they arrived in Santa Barbara to go after the werewolf. The latter, however, nervous of sending his brother into the fray; how long gone was Dean now? Would they just be feeding the mark even more bloodshed?

 

“Your face says it all.” Jax remarked, placing a hand on the metal box which held their tools. It was almost as if he was caressing the box as he gazed down at it. “Can see it on your face. All hunters got that look when they're thinking death.” He knew it too well, it was the same look he had back on his last hunt. The same look he had now.

 

Sam nodded gravelly, already stepping cautiously towards the other. “I'm going to.” He replied, eyes glued on the gun. “I'm going to make sure it doesn't hurt anyone else.”

 

“It's going to hurt someone else,” Jax replied, a breath, soft and shaky released. “Heard it an hour ago, it's already out there.” Fear was on Jax's face; Sam hadn't seen it in a while. On anyone. “it's going to kill someone else – we got to stop it.”

 

“We?” Sam asked.

 

“You didn't think I was going to let this bastard kill my friends, did you?” In honesty, Jax didn't know any of the victims, he didn't even know their families. But the possibility that just one of the victims _could_ be his friend was just too much for the ex-hunter. He had to dust off his hunting license, and get back out there. “it's what a hunter has to do. Protect.” His smile jerked, his lips turning up only at the corners. The Winchester knew too well that mantra, the one he and Dean grew up with.

**Later** :  
The breaking of Dean was going with least than expected results. In other words, it was going horribly. For every jab that Lassiter and Juliet gave, the hunter would return with a smug smile, and sarcastic remark; it was becoming a quick repeat of actions.

 

Lassiter gritted his teeth as he slowly paced around Dean like a predator would hunt his prey, his eyes glued onto Dean's every motion. If Dean even went to move his arm the handcuffs, Lassiter would know. Juliet was growing tired of the same game, but her will as a detective was not broken; she cracked harder men.

 

“Mr. Winchester, this can all end if you just admit.” She said, her kind eyes gazing across the table at Dean. He didn't bat an eyelash at her. “Tell us why you did it.”

 

Dean shrugged his shoulders as he smiled briskly. “Did what?”

 

Whatever cork was hiding Lassiter's anger in slowly burst, the man's face red with anger and embarrassment. “Don't play dumb!” He sneered out, still pacing around the Winchester. “You know fully well what you did – you murdered all those people! And moved on to a new city, a new method. You sick, sick bas--” His foul mouth was quickly interrupted by his partner, who coughed under her breath. Lassiter's nose turned slightly, and he once again stalked away from Dean, trying to control his anger and upset.

 

Dean forced himself not to smirk, though every fiber of his being was still anxious about being in the same room as the man, part of him felt oddly at ease with the woman; she may be the only thing controlling the detective from ripping Dean into pieces. “Detective Lassiter, ain't it?” He asked, watching the detective in question square his shoulders up. “You don't believe a word of this, do you? Come on, they saw me _die_. You can't come back after that.” That was a lie: apparently you could. But it was better if they didn't know about the angels.

 

The tall man gritted his teeth once more, eyes roving to the ceiling. Dean did the same, only to be greeted with the white of it. “You're right, you don't. But explain to me why you're driving the same car as the serial killers, with the same license tag, as well!”

 

On the other side of the room, Shawn and Gus watched the three talk. Gus was practically shaking in his boots, shaking his head as well. “He just needs to confess.” Gus said. They'd been in there for an hour, everything was pointing to this guy being guilty. All they needed was a confession, and Gus and Shawn could go home, get some food and sleep, and worry about dying another day! But of course, his friends had other ideas.

 

After studying the man in the past hour, Shawn had other ideas; for starters, he was telling the truth. They hadn't murdered those people; Shawn wasn't sure how, unless the man was a master liar. He also had a large sense of fashion, and had a thing for Juliet; two of those three things Shawn liked.

 

“Where is your accomplice?” Lassiter asked, his hands making contact with the table. He stared at Dean, hoping that if he intimidated him enough, he'd break.

 

Dean looked at him, though the shudder up his spine told him not to, and stared into his eyes. There was something different in them, then there had been with Cain, something human. “I. Don't. Know.” He said each word with emphasis, also hanging onto hope that the man would believe him. The words only stirred more animosity from the man.

 

“We know he was with you, now where is he!” Lassiter said firmly, the two locking eyes again. The men stared at each other for the longest time, Juliet finally breaking it up.

 

Outside of the room, Shawn also finally had enough of the interrogation. He looked into the room as he studied as much as he could. He turned slightly to Gus as he leaned into the whisper, finally getting the feeling he'd been searching for. “Nah man, look....” Shawn said as he pointed out every little detail of Dean. “Look at the way he's focusing on them, he doesn't look away. He doesn't break eye contact; this guy is telling the truth.”

 

“What do you mean he's telling the truth? You can't trust every guy, Shawn!” Gus replied, already being to chastise his friend.

 

Shawn replied indignantly, “I'm not trusting _every_ guy, I'm trusting this one.” He continued to whisper to his friend. His eyes crept up, past Gus' head. “Chief Vick!” He cheerfully said. Gus jolted, straightening out his shirt.

 

She moved down the stairs gracefully, though urgently. “Mr. Burton. Mr. Spencer, I see you're taking your time in getting a _full_ reading from Mr. Winchester?” She asked, looking between them, to the interrogation room. Shawn saw from her face she was flushed; had she run from her office to here?

 

“Of course, chief.” He said, lowering his head down humbly. “I sense you're feeling rushed.” The look on her face explained enough. Had something happened?

 

“You're right.” She admitted with a look back up the stairs. “Excuse me.” She said, taking her leave up the stairs. As soon as she disappeared, she returned inside of the interrogation room. Both Gus and Shawn pressed their faces up against the glass, trying their best to listen.

 

Her entrance shocked the two detectives, both sitting up, alert. “Chief?” It wasn't often their chief interrupted as interrogation. Not unless it was something important.

 

Her face was still flushed, but she stood her ground. “Detective Lassiter, Detective O'Hara... Mr. Winchester.” She said, finally acknowledging the man. He did his best to wave a hand at her, failing. “There's been in a break in the case.” She said, her face finally losing it's color with a frown. “There's been another attack.”

 

Finally, Dean sat up alert. His heart sped in his chest as his hands warmed up. The only thing in his mind? Sammy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Dean trying his damnedest to find his brother after news of another attack, and Sam already on the hunt for the werewolf plaguing Santa Barbara, will he get there in time? Or will there be another victim added to the list?

The moment the woman came in and said there was another murder, Dean's hands slammed onto the table in a fit of adrenaline. Another murder could mean his little brother was hurt. He had to get to Sam, and quick. He quickly shot up from the table. The detective interrogating him, Carlton, spun on his heels and shot the hunter a glare. No doubt angered by his outburst, the woman who entered also sent a glare his way; Dean could tell she meant business.

 

“Mr. Winchester, where do you think you are going?” She asked stern, the glare cutting through and sending a shudder down Dean's back. He looked back towards her, the adrenaline surging through his ears.

 

“Look lady,” He said, noticing the way the chief soured further. Still, he continued, “My brother is out there. Those charges were dropped _long_ \--” he drew the word out for emphasis, “ago. I'm a free man. You can't keep me in here.” His lip curled as his eyes crinkled with a rebellious glimmer. He wasn't a lawyer like Sam was studying to be, but Dean still knew his way around the law. “So lets cut to the chase, and undo these handcuffs?” He shifted his arms for the detective who glowered angrily at him.

 

The tips of Carlton's ears began to redden as he looked onto Chief Vick. “You're not believing this guy's story.” He said, as if clarifying that this would not be like the usual happenstances they encountered.

 

Just outside the interrogation room, two men stared unto the scene before them. Only one of them was amazed, however. Shawn gaped at the man and his coolness, jutting his towards Gus, the latter giving a squawk of disapproval. “That dude is  _cool._ ” He whispered.

 

Gus could hardly believe the words coming out of Shawn's mouth, shaking his head in disbelief. “He still could have killed someone!” He tried being the voice of reason for his friend, who wasn't having it. “I don't trust him.” Though he too couldn't deny that Dean was at least a bit awesome, he still disrespected Chief Vick. Gus didn't know a single person who did that – and lived.

 

“Yeah, but these attacks?” There was that voice of wonder, the same one he had with Pierre Desperaux. “He didn't do them, Gus. Besides, even if it _was_ his brother, don't you think he wouldn't be so worried about him?” Shawn had a feeling there was another cause for the attacks, but he couldn't put his finger on it. Whatever caused them though, Dean seemed to know.

 

“They're partners,” Gus tried to explain, although he had a hard time believing himself. He had a good instinct for things like these; this one was telling him Shawn was right. Boy, did he hate when Shawn was. “Come on Shawn,” he interrupted the other from getting a word in edgewise. “Let's let the police handle this.” He attempted to plead with the other, hoping they could have enough time to head back to the office, maybe catch an episode of some bad reality television or singing competition.

 

“Mr. Winchester, even if you are not at fault for the attacks, I can assure you. Your brother is still out there.” Chief Vick said, her face growing warmer. “You are – and still – under arrest.” The man didn't budge an inch, even as the woman continued to stare him down.

 

The arrest did however, deflate Dean's ego. He couldn't get out there to help Sam, wherever he'd gone off to. If by some miracle they'd gotten out of this, he'd never set foot in California again... maybe just to visit Hollywood.

 

**Elsewhere:**

Twigs cracked underneath Sam's weight as he moved through the underbrush, his flashlight bobbing against the ground. He and Jax had been following a trail that stank of death since they'd left the motel, yet the caused was never found. Sam wondered if it really was a werewolf they were hunting, or something so much more. Another crack of twigs alerted him to Jax, who was sneaking up on his left.

 

Obviously the elder hunter hadn't done any of this in a while, the way he took a sharp intake of breath.“Find anything?” He asked Sam in a bated breath. His own flashlight pointed forwards and towards a break of trees. In front of them were more bushes and leaves, the scenery behind them not faring much better.

 

Sam shook his head, it was morbid but he was hoping that they would find at least  _something_ , even if that something was a jacket or shoe of the newest victim, if any. He shuddered, not from fear but from the lack of heat. Somehow, the weather had dropped from comfortably warm temperatures, into comfortable cold temperatures; Sam wished he brought more than just a t-shirt and jacket. “Nothing.” He sighed, watching as his flashlight flickered. He gave it a good thwack, watching as the light illuminated in front of him. Nothing in front of him either, not even a pair of glowing eyes. “Maybe they're not out tonight?” He asked the other, earning a sharp laugh.

 

“Not out tonight, huh? Yeah, there's hoping...” Jax bitterly mumbled, his shoes crunching in the freshly fallen leaves. At least if they got lost, they could follow their paths in the leaves. Jax's flashlight bobbed once more, something metallic glinting off the beam. “What was that?” His flashlight moved once more as he tried to recapture the glint from moments ago. Sam's flashlight also joined in on the hunt, searching for whatever they were lucky (or unlucky) enough to find.

 

All hope was almost lost, until Sam's flashlight brushed over something, a twinkle of silver on the forest floor. Bending down, his light reflected over the silver object that was almost lost within the piles of leaves. Had they been there an hour later, they may never have found it. Sam cautiously bent down, using a broken stick to move around the leaves; better to be safe than to accidentally lose your hand on a bear trap.

 

“It looks like a ring,” Sam breathlessly said, watching as the circular piece found it's way on to the stick perfectly, sliding down the stick with ease. The metal reflected once more, Sam needed to squint to perfectly view the ring. It was a silver wedding band, nothing too fancy. “It looks like it's inscribed.” He added as he tried to twist the band off of the stick. It was harder getting it off than it was getting it on, the ring seeming not to want to budge from it's place. “French.”

 

“You know how to speak French, kid?” Jax asked, as he scratched the side of his head. He didn't know how to speak a lick of it, his old man telling him Spanish was a far better language to learn if you wanted to get ahead in the world.

 

Sam looked onto the band in thought, his eyes traveling over the neat lettering. “I know a little,” he replied, though he studied the piece. He read the ring's inscription, hoping he had it right. “ _Mon seul vrai princesse._ ”

 

“What the heck is that suppose to mean? Sounds like gibberish to me.” Jax replied. Quickly, his flashlight moved around, the sound of a broken twig alerting him. “We need to move.” He quickly and quietly said, grabbing Sam by the back of his jacket with a quick tug. Sam agreed, he wanted to know what caused the noise, but the distance would require some walking. Besides, he didn't want to lead Jax and himself straight into a trap. He'd rather have trapped the supernatural being first.

 

**Elsewhere:**

He didn't care how he got into the cell: maybe it was his smart mouth, maybe it was his flirtatious behavior, maybe the Lassiter guy plain didn't like him. Whatever the cause, Dean knew far too well the cold bars of prison. At least they had reading material; even if it was just a plaque on the wall. No doubt once the paperwork went through, he'd be spending the rest of his days eating prison food, working out, and enjoying a monster free life.

 

The door leading to the cells banged open, whomever it was seemed unhappy, or possibly in a rush. Everyone seemed in a rush here: the chief, the detectives, even the weirdly chatty guy he bumped into as he was escorted out. California – or specifically Santa Barbara, was a busy place. He returned to reading the plaque on the wall, becoming  **inherently** interested as to how many people donated to build the precinct. Ignoring the staff helped too, if all they wanted to do was marvel that they caught  _ the  _ Dean Winchester. “No autographs, please.” He lulled to the man approaching. From the corner of Dean's eye, he could tell they were unlike the other police officer: yes, the man was tall, but with his face screamed youthful innocence with a smile that could make a baby giggle, and hair that even Dean envied.

 

“Oh! I'm not here for an autograph,” the man stumbled over his words, likewise fumbling with the keys in his hands, his eyes shining almost. “But if you could, that would be great! I've always wanted your autograph – well, not yours. In general. Anyone's would be great!” The man smiled once more, Dean could only stare in amazement at how cheerful this guy was. Only then did he focus on the man's choice of item to fumble with. With a raised eyebrow, he glanced at the man, trying to decipher if he really was being kind, or if it was a ploy.

 

The man, whose name-tag read McNabb, shared his look of confusion. “What's wrong?” He said. Dean looked from his face, and down to McNabb's hands, McNabb's eyes following suit. The pair of keys in his hands jangled, and he seemingly remembered exactly why he was there. “Oh right! The chief's letting you go.”

 

Dean repeated his words, unsure if he had heard the man correctly. “She's letting me go.”

 

“That's right! She's still angry.” His change of expression was quick, but Dean swore he noticed a frown. “But apparently another officer cleared you of all charges; you're free to go!” A smile grew on Dean's face. He had a feeling he knew the officer, or better yet sheriff, who had cleared them. She wouldn't be happy, though, no doubt having to pull strings; he and Sam would get an earful later.

 

The click of the lock was music to the man's ears. As the cell door swung open, Dean stepped out past the cell door, and up the stairs to collect his belongings.

 

**Elsewhere:**

Hunting for a werewolf that's killed four people may seem easy, but in Sam's defense, it was hard. From just hiking or scouring from food alone, the werewolf knows the terrain more than any other human, maybe it even lived here. So for the time being, he and Jax would be in it's domain. It would have the upper hand, in knowing full well where to go if it felt cornered.

 

That's why Sam and Jax needed to corner it, or even have it feel it's winning. A trap was the only way they could deal with it the ways hunters did best, and help everyone.

 

“I still think this is a stupid idea,” Jax grunted as he moved a rock into place. “How do you think the thing is stupid enough to fall for it?”

 

Sam glanced down at the makeshift pit; it wasn't much, but it would seriously harm anyone who fell into it. “We don't.” He replied, honestly.

 

Jax didn't like that answer. At all. “You don't.” He said through gritted teeth. For a moment, Sam thought he was angry enough to strike at him, but the feeling dissipated once Jax broke into a peal of laughter. “Hunters don't know if shit's gonna work or not. That's the way it's always been, glad to see it's going through the lines.” He shifted the last leaves into place, feeling another leaf land in his windblown locks. God was on their side that night, the wind blowing the way it was would cause their scent to be blown out of the area, if only enough so that their little plan could work.

 

“How long until your brother gets here?” Jax asked, warming his hands inside of his pockets. He crouched behind a boulder, shoulder to shoulder with the Winchester brother. Jax noticed the way Sam's shoulders tensed at the mention of him, his brows furrowing.

 

“I don't know.” Sam replied in a bated breath, as if trying to control something. Jax wasn't sure what it was, but he only hoped it wouldn't get them killed. Sam's hands rested on the cool boulder, peeking over it. Whatever they'd heard in the forest before hadn't made another sound, and a still and unpleasant silence fell over the force.

 

“I'm just saying,” Jax said, his eyes locked in front of him. For a moment, he swore a figure was forming in the murky blackness. _Damn darkness, playing tricks on a man's mind._ He thought bitterly. “I'd feel much safer with three of us taking this thing down.” He exhaled a much needed breath, watching the figure on the horizon disappear once his eyes adjusted to the dark.

 

“We can take it down.” Sam forcefully said, his shoulders bristling with Jax's words. “We don't need Dean.” His words were harsh, but true. They didn't need Dean, Sam had taken down werewolves plenty of times. Just one would be easy enough for two hunters.

 

Jax's brows furrowed. The two brothers must have had a hell of a fight by the time he'd seen them last. He didn't need this drama clouding Sam's head. “Right, we can take on the guy by ourselves.” He whispered back to Sam. “I ever tell you about the time Bobby Singer pissed off Henry Spencer--” The story randomly came to mind, he figured a good hearted story might take the edge off of Sam's mind.

 

A sudden sound on their right alerted the duo, both swung into action, their pistols aiming towards the sound. There were a few crunches of leaves and what sounded like a heavy dragging noise. Jax's fingers twitched with eagerness, he didn't realize how much he yearned for the thrill of the hunt; it'd been a long time since he felt like this.

 

Sam's fingers went to his lips as he slowly crept forward in a desperate attempt for silence. His first worry was the werewolf could hear his loud heartbeat, so he had to focus on calming that. Then, focus on the sounds which were coming closer and closer focus on his breathing, and finally on his breathing. As his hand rose, his finger twitched for the pistol with a silver bullet already loaded. He rose the gun up, Jax mirrored his moves behind him, albeit slower. Sam inched forward, his eyes keeping ahead in the darkness. A figure moved in it, bobbing left and right in a lost manner. A strange, glowing eye stayed right beside the figure; Sam came to realize it wasn't an eye, but a light of some sort. The blob of darkness and light were nearing, moving past trees in a slow, stumbling pace. Somehow it was zeroing right onto the two, as if it could sense their fear and stillness. Whatever the thing was, it wasn't alarmed or threatening, but lost, as if it was searching for something.

 

Or someone?

 

“Sam?” Dean's voice called out, the light bobbing in their direction. Sam winced when the light was cast in his eyes, not adjusting quick enough to the strong source of light.

 

Sam tried to find his voice, as small and feeble as it was. “Dean? How did you find us?” He wasn't excited or happy that his brother was here, and it showed in his tone.

 

“GPS.” Dean grinned towards him, one hand dangling Dean's old cellphone. He tucked it away. “What are you doing out here?” His eyes followed the beam of light, now fully focusing “Jax? Really?” Dean's head moved from Sam to Jax. “I thought you quit hunting!”

 

“So did I, kid.” Jax grumbled, a hand clutched to his jacket. Damn Winchester almost gave him a heart attack. “But plans change. Now are you going to turn that thing off and join us? Or are you going to alert the werewolf to our position?” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder. Dean shut the light off with a mocking face, crawling behind the boulder to stay hidden.

 

“What's the plan?” Dean asked, a large grin towards Sam. Once this was over, he had a hell of a story to tell him.

 

With a quick motion, Jax looked over the boulder once more. The silence was still, the plan was still in play, and everything was going smoothly. “Make it hurt itself, gut it. Protect people.”

 

“Just like every time.” Sam added. With a plan like that, Dean was pleased. He still had other things to say about Sam running off to hunt a werewolf, however. Especially with a supposed ex-hunter. Who knew how much Jax remembered? What if Sam got hurt?

 

Or the most dreaded question: What if it wasn't a werewolf?

 

“We found an old ring too, maybe it belonged to a victim?” Sam mentioned. “If we can find them, maybe--” He noticed Dean's bleak look. “What?”

 

Dean cleared his throat, it began to tighten with the dreaded news. “They found another victim. Got caught by the police – they knew about the Leviathans, don't ask. Sammy, I'm...” There was a quiet silence over the group, and a muffled 'damn it' from Jax.

 

Sam's face paled as well, his eyes focusing on the dark horizon, towards the trees. He didn't know any of the victims, and they didn't have time to interview any of them before jumping into the case. But knowing they were so close to preventing another loss? It broke Sam, piece by piece. Though he knew they couldn't protect everyone, he always wondered what else they could have done too.

 

“It's okay,” Sam said. He cleared his throat, did he best to hide his cloudy eyes, and focused on the task on hand. Dean nodded as well as he returned to his previous position. The three of them squatted as still, silent, and focused as they could. Each noise from the forest was a possible indicator of their foe. Dean and Sam had honed their skills enough not to jump at every possible noise, but their senior hunter had not.

 

“Feels like we're in a goddamn cheesy horror movie.” Jax joked, his gaze never once unfaltering. His muscles were too tense, and his grip on his gun was leaving his hands sore, but the man wouldn't back down. He'd had enough of werewolves thinking they owned the land. Jax had too much of that growing up, and he wasn't about to let it happen again.

 

Dean chuckled. The old man was beginning to grow on him, even if he was cranky and seemed to dislike Dean. Dean wondered if that's what he would be like at Jax's age – possibly better looking, in a retirement home surrounded by hot nurses. That was how Dean wanted to go out, not only that, but he wanted the same for Sammy. His lip twitched in the thoughts of his daydream, doing his best to hide the smile from Jax and Sam. His good thoughts were broken by a howl, however. Not the lone dog howling at the moon sort, but a wolf's howl: low, guttural, and feral. St first, the noise started in front of them, but slowly it began moving all around them. Dean was the first the catch on, “it's watching us.” Dean whispered, feeling the hairs on his arms prickling adrenaline and fear. As if agreeing with Dean's theory, Jax gave a small snort.

 

“Stay on guard.” Sam also whispered back. His eyes could only move so fast. Just when he thought he'd focus on the creature, it'd race away from his gaze. This person was fast, faster than most werewolves they'd seen before. Another gut-wrenching howl rang out, but closer. Sam couldn't tell where this one came from, though. They were doing their best to cover all sides, even twisting their bodies to be safe.

 

The mark on Dean's arm began to began to throb endlessly, almost as if it was calling for bloodshed. The pain intensified, almost willing Dean to drop his gun and scream out, and join in the werewolf's frenzied howls. His eyebrow twitched in both pain and annoyance. Trying to not to succumb was the hardest thing of them all, the muscles in his neck and torso tensed.

 

The worry creased Sam's forehead as he noticed how Sam tense Dean had become. It wasn't that the job wasn't a tense job (it was), or that Sam didn't trust Dean (he did, _sometimes_ ). It was the amount of pain he looked like he was in – Sam never saw his brother show _any_ emotion, let alone pain. It was a first for Sam.

 

And that's what scared Sam the most.

 

When Sam saw the werewolf again, it seemed like time had slowed down. All the hunter had seen was skin, claws, and well... hair. The hair being pure white, almost like snow, it was almost ironic, given Santa Barbara's sweltering heat. Sam watched as the white was streaked with red. Time returned to normal afterwards. Sam wished it hadn't.

 

Then, maybe he wouldn't hear the cries of torture, or see the red wasn't really red. It was crimson like blood. Blood that splattered across the ground, the boulder, and their clothes. Just as Dean swiveled on his heel, his face placed, and a shot rung out from his gun, breaking the dead silence of the night. He spewed a slew of curses, in his eyes was only fear. And then, the fear disappeared, only to be replaced with a hardened gaze.

 

Once the ringing stopped in his ears, Sam looked down. He expected to see the werewolf (or whatever it was) wounded, trying to crawl away. Instead, Jax was on the ground, neck covered as his face showed despair. Sam thought positively (or was it just immaturely?) that he was in shock from the close encounter. He thought Jax was just shaken up, and would get up with a witty retort, or chastise Dean for shooting so close to him. He wished it was his good thinking, he wished for any other possible scenario, than seeing a hunters' worst fear. Being attacked on the job, much less by a werewolf. Sam watched as the crimson dropped onto Jax's worn jacket, the way Jax tried desperately to hold any and all blood in.

 

His attempts didn't help any, though. Jax just continued bleeding, his face paling by the second from the loss of blood. Just like that, time returned to normal for the brothers, almost too abruptly for either to know what to do. Then, they both jumped forward to help their fallen comrade. Jax was trying to speak, his breathing labored.

 

“Can't believe...” He coughed each word, even struggling just to breathe; the gash on his neck was just too deep. Sam's hand rested on his chest, whilst Dean propped him up, his hand on the old man's back. “Can't believe it got me...”

 

“We can get this, we can fix it--” Even though the life was already draining away, Jax still had time to look at Sam with downtrodden eyes.

 

He was still attempting – and failing – to stop the bleeding. As he tried to shake his head, Jax failed miserably at that, too. “I ain't gonna make this... and if I do...” Dean's shoulders bristled and his gaze hardened, as if already knowing what Jax was about to say. Jax ignored him, still trying to speak with a cough, “I _don't_ want to turn into them.”

 

Sam's eyes widened, his frown definite on his face. His forehead creased in response. “You won't. We can kill it, we can stop it from happening.” His lips rambled, but even he knew Jax was far too gone. Even if they could stop him from turning, after everything... would he even survive long? Jax seemed to share his sentiment, his bloody hand streaking down his face.

 

“Look. At. Me. I've lived a good time – long life, given the profession--” Each word was becoming harder to pronounce, words becoming coughs instead. “If I survive, I know what will happen. You two need to stop it.”

 

Dean's hardened gaze could shatter a diamond. He found himself unconsciously clenching his fist, the mark taunting him once more to feed it. It burnt worse than any fire, and Dean felt sick at himself for even _thinking_ of the possibility of killing Jax.

 

“Okay.”

 

“Dean, we can't just--”

 

Dean looked towards Sam, his face stoic. The younger brother recoiled instantly, but both brothers looked at each other, sharing the stormy look in their eyes. “It's his dying wish, Sammy. You and me, we both know what happens afterwards. It's not pretty.”

 

Words could never sting as much as they had then, the younger brother knew his brother was right, but he also was sick of it: sick of losing people to _their_ mistakes, sick of the things that go bump in the night, and sick of never being able to do enough. His stormy eyes glanced back down to Jax, who had already placed his gun down into the dirt.

 

“Take it.” The man croaked in a gravelly voice. He led his head back against the rock with a gentle thud, his eyes threatening to close, the life already had faded. Sam looked at the gun, and then to Dean. He wondered morbidly if Dean would do the same for him; if Dean would bring Jax back, if Jax was Sam. Sam wondered if he would even want that himself.

 

He bent lower to the ground, giving the gun a once over, as if it would give the answers to all the questions he was asking. The gun felt heavier in Sam's hands than it normally would. He lined the gun's barrel up, his eyes meeting Jax's. It showed on Jax's face that he was content, no doubt happier than he'd been in years. He mouthed a quiet thank you to the brothers, before the world went silent.

 

The sound of the shot seemed to reverberate off every trunk in the forest, rocking Sam to his core. Even if Sam closed his eyes in the want to not see any more, the way the forest went silent was something he didn't fail to notice.

 

“Sam...” Dean breathlessly said, emotion once again returning to his face and green eyes. Sam didn't reply, he didn't know what to say. The only thing he truly knew was that Jax would want them to finish what they came for.

 

“The werewolf must have run off.” Sam abruptly replied, finally he willed himself to look down. There was blood, but his eyes didn't travel farther than that. “We have to find it.”

 

It shook Dean, how professionally Sam said that, as if they didn't have to assist a fellow hunter's death. He also wondered who was more of a monster: Sam or himself? “Yeah,” Dean tried to say, his voice cracking only slightly. “Lead the way, Teen Wolf.” He didn't notice if Sam reacted or not, because Dean was too focused on his own thoughts.

 


	5. Santa Barbara Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the final showdown: Werewolf vs. Sam and Dean, who will come out victorious? Will Shawn and Gus ever see the duo again?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say it's been an amazing journey with all of you. With a saddened heart, I close this story. But thank you all for your support on this tale, it meant so much. You all willed me to finish this, and I can't wait to begin the next chapter of the Winchester's life. :)

As the moon hung in the night sky, Dean and Sam had begun to notice the thick, tense atmosphere that hung around the forest. The once humid air had lost it's sweltering heat hours ago, the chilling air nipping through their shirts as time progressed. The brothers' nerves had become shot, even the smallest flutter from the leaves of trees causing the hair on the back of their neck to bristle.

“Once we find this son of a bitch, it's back on the road again.” Dean offhandedly replied, his eyes gazing down the path before the brothers. They had felt the creature watching them from afar, no doubt waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. There was no way in Hell (or Heaven) he'd let something happen to Sam as well. Visions of Jax's fate came back, only fueling the hunter's want for revenge. His brother couldn't be happier, thinking of the open road, the songs Dean was sure to play, and the happiness they'd feel. Sam longed for that normalcy to return, even if it was for just a day.

How long had it been since the both of them sailed down the road, both singing badly to songs Dean played? Years. Too long. Sam thought sadly, thinking of the bittersweet memories they'd held on the road. His feet became numb, his thoughts traveling to how much the two of them had changed over the years. Not only physically, but mentally as well. “Yeah.” He managed to reply, his thoughts allowing a brief moment of clarity for his actions. Had they been around this tree before?

Whatever plagued Dean's mind seemed to be willing his movements as well, the older brother looking up from the trail they were creating. “Damn it,” he breathlessly cursed as he checked his surroundings. “Don't you say it.” He said almost too quickly, an offended look already appearing across his features.

With heavy furrowed brows, Sam asked, “We're lost, aren't we?”

“I told you not to say it!” Dean shot back, his green eyes rolling and focusing in front of them. As much as the eldest Winchester hated to say it, they were indeed lost. Not only was there a constant fear of what could be lurking in the woods around them, it was just the lack of anything else. All around them was wood and more wood, they couldn't even see which way was the highway. “Come on, let's double back.” He said, turning on his heel. If they followed their tracks back, they just might find their way – or lead the monster right to them. Dean wasn't sure if it was a win-win scenario.

Sam looked over his shoulder, back towards the way he'd just come. The woods in this area weren't too dense, which was a good thing. But it also didn't leave a lot of coverage for them, or the werewolf. “Let's go this way. Keep on the lookout for any moss or fresh tracks.”

“Moss... Huh, those Boy Scout camp trips really did come in handy.” Dean mused, earning a displeased groan from Sam. He continued egging his brother on, “You still got those badges? What were they again?” 

“It was one badge.” Sam corrected his brother as he stepped a path of broken twigs. “...And it was for fire building.” He finished. Clearly amused by the story, Dean whistled behind him. “Shut up,” Sam hissed out, feeling his face and ears flush.

“Oh, I will.” Dean said, though his actions didn't hold true to his words, “Man,” Dean continued to mock him, his pseudo sarcasm hardly amiss. “I'm so jealous that dad didn't let me join; I'd be rocking that uniform.” Even if Dean would torment him about it for the rest of the trip, and Sam would no doubt retaliate, the brotherly bickering did calm them both down.

Maybe it had calmed them down too much. Was that even a thing for hunters? They'd been following a path of broken twigs for ten minutes. A sudden crunching noise alerted the both of them towards a path they'd yet to take; but this path had more than just broken twigs. Trees pushed nearly off their stumps lay in the wake, their bobs of flashlights foreshadowed what may be in store for them: gigantic claw marks on trees and boulders, marking the territory of something big. Something dangerous.

Dean's flashlight crept over the scene. His eyes caught glimpses of claw marks engraved deeply through the trees and boulders. “Either that's one big bear, or I think we're on the right track.” Sam agreed with him, this must have been the path the werewolf had taken after their scuffle. His assumption was deemed correct as his flashlight gleamed on something – blood. Fresh as well, the bitter metallic smell was overcoming all of Sam's other senses. If he focused hard enough he could even taste it in his mouth.

Sam looked over his shoulder at his brother. “Think you can handle yourself?” Dean rolled his eyes in response, his only acknowledgment to Sam's concern was a firm nod.

He replied, “If I start climbing on the trees and demanding more bloodshed, I'll let you know.” Sam found himself watching Dean more cautiously than ever; he and Jax weren't friends or anything close-like, but Sam knew revenge did things to Dean. He'd seen his brother go off the deep end for revenge more times than anything, but he hoped Dean wouldn't go too far; they didn't know how far the Mark could make Dean go, with the mark still being new territory for either of them.

With that, both brothers began their trek after the elusive werewolf, armed with their silver bullet loaded guns. They stalked quietly down the path, unsure if it may spring out at any moment. Sam remembered what he saw when they'd been attacked: white. White, and nothing else. “It might be a white wolf,” Sam said. “There's old lore that sometimes the transformation is complete.”

“What, like they're full on Shaggy Dog?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “They can turn into and look like a regular wolf. But... no one's seen them for years.” It even surprised himself that he witnessed one. But the brothers have seen their own share of rare moments; they had a knack for finding the weird and rare – in that order.

“Maybe you can ask it what that's like when we see it.” Dean sarcastically said, already walking a few steps ahead of his brother. There was another crashing noise, and the sick crunch of something. Something that the brothers had hoped wasn't bones.

As they crept along the path laid out by the werewolf, it was Sam who first noticed the cave-like structure hidden in the deep crest of the hillside. The arch was man-made looking, the stone pale to the sight and almost too smooth. Had it been there all this time? Sam wondered if others had found it before them. Whether they wanted to or not, they were about to find out. The crunching had stopped, only to replaced with a rustling noise. Whatever was in the cave was eating whatever it had been, and would no doubt be looking for more food. They still had day three of the full moon to go; that was more than enough time for another victim or two for the wolf.

“Had to be bones.” Dean protested, his face looking grim as he looked down. Right outside the cave entrance were indeed bones upon bones, all gnawed to hell and missing their marrow. “Just had to be bones...” Dean repeated, whispering to himself about the bones.

As much as Sam wanted to reassure his brother that it could be worse, he wasn't actually sure how it could be worse than discarded bones. Human bones. They'd seen and experienced a variety of weird things over the years, but nothing really prepares you for human remains. He only grimly nodded, doing his best to avoid stepping on any of the bones in question. Which in turn meant he'd have to look down at them.

“You reckon it's still in there, chomping away?” Another sickening crunch gave Dean his answer. “Never mind... least it's distracted.” He whispered to his brother, who in turn kept his flashlight low. The last thing they needed was for the werewolf to get curious. “Let's keep going, it sounds close.” Sam wanted to protest Dean leading, but like that Dean was off, Sam following in his wake. His brother wasn't wrong about the werewolf being close, with each step deeper inside the cave, the louder the crunches became. 

Dean held the gun closer to himself, remembering all the time something big and ugly had managed to kick, punch, and claw his weapon away from him. It wouldn't be happening again, the mark reminded him with a dull throb. He used his free hand to pull the sleeve of his flannel to at least cover some of the mark partially, the end still sticking out in a taunting reminder: It was still there. His eyes focused on the dimly lit path before them, narrow with jagged, sharpened fangs of rocks. “Careful,” he called back to Sam. “There's a lot of rocks here.” Not paying attention, he narrowly avoided slipping on one himself, barely catching himself, and his breath, as he avoided crashing on the skull of someone. _Ick, _he thought. _I won't be having ribs anytime soon. _Just as he opened his mouth to tell Sam of his witty thought, a piercing howl broke the silence, causing the hair to stand up on the back of both brother's necks.____

“I guess he heard us,” Sam replied, his gun also raising up. Broken bones sounded off in the opposite direction, the man-wolf thing had most likely heard them – and he was charging this way! “Dean, move!” Sam shouted, the shot of the gun defeaning both his brother and himself. Something large and furry brushed past Dean, knocking him to the ground. His gun was sent flying from his hand just as the air was sent gushing out his chest as he made contact with a large stone. He felt the warm blood coming to rise against the gash in his chest, but Dean chose to ignore the pain and scramble for his gun, only to feel his vision blackening as he succumbed to it.

“Get out of my cave,” the large and hulking beast replied with a snarl, his pearly white fangs catching the dim light of Sam's flashlight. Sam winced internally, looking at how worn down the fangs had gotten; but there was still a sharpness that could tear him apart. “I said get out!” He howled again with growing irritation.

“Who are you, why did you kill those people?!” Sam asked. Thankfully, he still had his gun in hand; he could protect himself just in case their wolfish friend decided to attack. Sam took another step back, feeling the rocks part underneath his feat. Where was Dean, where had he fell? Sam tried to spot his brother, but with the dark cave, it was hard to spot even his own feet in front of him. His flashlight bobbed, still unable to see his brother in front of him; he did, however, find their werewolf, who was starting to grow more agitated – even more with a flashlight in his eyes.

The werewolf blinked a bit in the dim light, and then he did something that managed to scare Sam – scare the boy so badly his stomach became lead, and he found it difficult to swallow least his heave. He smiled. It wasn't the smile that scared Sam, as much as it had unnerved him. It was the way his eyes shone an ungodly blue, and his grin grew until Sam could barely see the blue anymore. Them he lunged for Sam; thankfully the path between them was narrow, and he couldn't reach for Sam the first time. It did, however, knock rocks from the support of the wall, sending them tumbling down upon the cavern's floor. The werewolf let out a feral growl, pacing from the small path. “My name isn't of any importance, but my friends know me as La Bête du Gévaudan.” His French accent triggered Sam's mind. Gévaudan... Sam had heard of stories of the providence; one that had been plagued by a foul beast believed to be a werewolf, but both sides fighting if it had been a dog or man. Sam tried to keep the excitement at bay, he'd read stories, but he heard from his dad that the beast had been killed years before in France. “You're supposed to be dead.”

The werewolf – or the Beast of Gévaudan as he preferred – only laughed mockingly at Sam's clever thought. “Suppose to be dead,” he repeated as mockingly as a young school child to the teacher, “I'm supposed to be alive. No mere mortal can kill me with just a gun alone, that's where your precious hunter failed to think about. His bullets were not pure in silver.” He laughed again, each laugh sounding louder and more taunting. “Do you think you could do any different?” He purred to Sam, the latter who winced back, looking at his own gun in hand. Could he kill the beast, and help the town? Sam knew he had it in him. “Do you think you could do what so many others failed to?” He asked again, his footsteps sounding off as they crunched on the broken bones on the floor.

Sam quieted down, his mind said only one thing: he could kill the beast if he tried. He looked ahead, listening to the way the beast tried to enter the passageway, but had difficulty thanks to the rocks that fallen in his path. The beast gave another disgruntled growl, throwing his entire weight into the rocks. Sam's eyes went to his gun, checking his bullets. He had enough to take down the beast.

Dean began to wake up just as some dust sprinkled against his face. He coughed heavily, exhaling a puff of dust. Sputtering, he sat up quickly, still disorientated from getting knocked flat on his stomach. The blood from the cut had caused his shirt to stick on his chest, and his the cut burned. But right now, something told him to ignore the stinging pain and focus on his brother. Sam was still fighting with the werewolf; something told Dean that Sam could take care of himself. Dean reached for his gun as he watched the falling rocks; when had there been a cave in? Dean shook the thought from his head, checking his gun. He loaded a bullet in, standing up shakingly now.

“Ah, your brother is awake now...” The werewolf seemed to calm down. Instead, he turned turned his sights onto the eldest Winchester. “Maybe he'll be better at finishing it.” He joked with the brother, which only set Sam's sights of killing him stronger. “This will show you humans that us beasts are no joking matter.” He hissed out, Sam heard a strange sound, akin to breaking bones. “Shall we, boy?” The beast asked out loud, but his voice was deeper and growling. Was he changing right now?

“Wait! What about your... your fiancée? Would she want this?” Sam asked, feeling for the ring in his pocket. The beast wouldn't have given this ring to just anyone; it was engraved with something only a lover would say. Maybe a fiancée?

“What?” The beast asked, seemingly taken off guard by the strange question. “How... how do you know about Laura?” He asked, a tinge of annoyance in his voice. Maybe they had a fight, and that's why he killed her; maybe he wolfed out and killed her. Sam didn't know, but it didn't sound like they had a happy experience. Sam didn't have the time to reply before the beast started to growl again. “I loved her,” the werewolf wailed out, trying hard to fight through the rocks that had fallen.“I loved her! I wouldn't kill her for any good reason!” His thick French accent rendered his words almost unrecognizable to the two brothers.

“Then why did you?! We found her ring!” Sam asked, his voice coming out louder than he wished. Whatever despair and guilt the werewolf had been feeling was replaced with unbridled rage. The werewolf's voice was changing, deepening as he growled heartily, the growl ricocheting off the walls. Sam felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle again, his instincts kicking in: fight of flight? Sam always chose fight. 

“Her?!” The one sorrow filled man gave a long and wolfish howl from inside the cave. Dean felt an ache growing in his ears as the sound reverberated off the walls. “She couldn't accept me; that lying chienne said she could. She lied!” The wolf began cackling, his blue eyes glowing feverishly through cracks of the rocks. The sound of claws scraped against them, akin to nails on a chalkboard. “She couldn't handle me... I told her not to scream.” With a final heave, more rocks tumbled out. There stood the werewolf, now more wolf than man. He licked his transforming jowls hungrily, gazing Dean down. “It gets me excited, the screams... I can't handle that side of me when they scream.” He opened his mouth to speak again, his teeth gleamed shockingly white even through the blood that stained them. “Don't scream...” He begged Dean, though his eyes said another story. “Just don't scream. I've never had Winchester. I want to savor your taste, boy...”

Dean stepped back, never once dropping his gun. His fingers twitched eagerly for the trigger, and he found it harder and harder to stop the temptation. It'd just be survival if he took out the guy now; he's coming for Dean, Dean can kill him, and still have a clear conscience. There wasn't an option to run, the werewolf was faster than he was. He could only fight.

“Come on, I hear I'm pretty tasty.” He taunted back, his muscles flexing with anticipation as he stared the werewolf head on. There was something that contorted within the beast's face. Something animalistic that had snapped with those provoking words. Like lightning, he snapped forward, jowls opened in a dangerous display of teeth and death. Dean braced for the worst, though his arm had another thought it mind as it lined up the shot to the great beast. With his finger on the trigger, he pulled the shot, the bullet banged forward and the recoil pushed Dean backwards. The werewolf gave a yelp of pain, falling forward to the ground where it continued to writhe in agony, just as Dean had expected to feel after he shot. But unlike the beast, there was no pain radiating from his arm, no burning ache that reverberated through the limb. Dean looked at the gun in his hand, then back up to the werewolf. Finally, he looked behind him.

There Sam stood, bleeding heavily from his forehead, his smoking gun aimed towards the beast. He didn't look at Dean, however, not wanting to meet his brother's eyes after what he'd seen. Dean getting ready to shoot the beast without a second thought. Mentally, Sam knew it was the right thing to do. But how far gone was Dean now?

“Sammy...” Dean broke the silence. The awe of what his brother had done was now replaced with brotherly panic. “We need to get back to Baby, get some bandages...” He walked over, taking Sam's arm in his own. “Stay with me, Sammy. Don't fall asleep on me.” Dean continued to talk to Sammy all the way to the impala, and until they were in the clear. Tomorrow, they'd put in an anonymous tip about Jax and their werewolf. Tomorrow, the police would do see how they see fit. Then Dean and Sam would do as they saw fit.

Next day:  
It wasn't a big turn out for Jax's funeral, but those who knew him gave long speeches about how he was a hell of a guy and how he'd do any task you give him. They went on nostalgia filled rants about Jax, even mentioning some of his earlier cases. Dean and Sam kept as much distance as they could, with the oil in the trunk of the impala, and their lighters in their pockets. Of course, they couldn't start their funeral until nightfall, but that didn't mean they couldn't pay their respects before, like any other normal being that knew Jax. 

“Going to miss you... You say hey to Bobby up there.” Dean whispered to the casket, touching the wood frame with a tender touch. He looked at it, his eyes locking to nothing for a couple seconds, before he broke away and walked back the way they came.

Sam came up to the casket, though he didn't know what to say. He's sorry? “You... should have lived a longer life.” Those were the only true words he could think of, his hand brushing as well over the cool wood. Once he finished up, he too walked towards Dean, the heavy feeling in his chest feeling only a little lighter.

Within hours, the people would be gone, and it would just be Sam, Dean, and Jax's body. The way a hunter always should go out properly. And on that same night, as Sam watched as the fire began to spark to life and the cloth began to catch alight, he began to think about what they were doing. “Do you think he really wanted that?” He warmed his hands on the pyre, just trying to find some comfort from the warm flames. They crackled against the cloth covered body, licking and covering it until it became nothing more than ash. Sam's eyes bore to where the clothing once was, still wondering morbid questions of his own mortality and the future the road held; the future he and Dean would have.

Dean looked at the fire, his eyes flickering with each flame that lighted his features. His heavy frown was more prominent, and the flames showed the deep creases in his skin showing through. “No.” He was honest with Sam this time. “Probably wanted to go out in Maui or something. No werewolf involved.” His gaze turned to Sam's. “But he wanted this, Sammy. He wanted this if shit ever hit the fan.” Dean licked his lips, thinking of the honesty he was speaking. “Heck, I'd want this too.”

Although it made Sam feel better thinking that just maybe they had done the right thing by helping Jax out, he didn't feel better with Dean's haunting afterwords. “Yeah,” he gritted his teeth slight into his words, lying through them. “Me too.” Sam felt his heart grow heavier with Dean's curt nod, and he wondered why he just lied to Dean again. His brow furrowed as he pushed his thoughts far away, trying to just focus on the fires before him.

Next day:  
The morning came as a shock to the two brothers, both having felt the night went by far too quickly, their bodies still tired from the day before. Still, they willed themselves out of bed and into the single bathroom, both getting ready for the day ahead; the day they'd finally leave Santa Barbara behind them. Both couldn't lie about how much of an adventure they had in this (not so) quiet town, but now it was time to leave and go onto the next case. 

“Did you hear about the vampire conjoined twins?” Sam asked as he brushed his teeth, spitting into the sink beside Dean. Dean's eyes widened as he listened to his brother, brushing a toothed comb through his growing locks of hair.

“What? No.” Dean replied, still brushing his hair into place. He fingered a loose lock of the growing mess, before combing it to the side. “Conjoined twins? How does that work, are they both vampires?”

“Apparently, they lure hikers down a path, and then the hikers are found days later, but...” Sam quieted down, finishing with his daily routine. It felt good to be back at this, just both of them discussing cases, the warm air tickling their faces are they rode down the road in the impala. Jax's death still tickled at the back of his mind, but he was doing well with pushing it away.

“Let's go,” Dean said almost a little too excitedly, already grabbing for his t-shirt from the chair in the dining area. He stretched a bit as he slid it down his chest, doing his best to stretch the shirt down his aching muscles with a low groan. Where the werewolf had thrown the bits of wood still ached, but Dean was pushing it far down. Anything to get Sam off his case was enough, the latter still worried after his almost bloodshed. Speaking of bloodshed, the mark had settled down from last night, now no longer throbbing like an ever playing drum; maybe it knew Jax was going to die, and that Dean was going to be that close to him; maybe it was settling once the event had passed. Dean didn't know, he didn't even really know why Cain had chosen him to bear his mark; all Dean knew was that it was his burden, not Sam's, or Castiel's, or even Crowley's.

“Before we go, those two detectives had some words for us,” Sam added in, poking his head through the door as he too combed through his long locks. “Detective Lassiter and O'Hara?” He mumbled, trying to remember if those were really their names.

“Pretty detective and salt n' pepper guy.”  
“Yeah, that's them.”

Sam couldn't believe the past day that Dean told him about; while Sam was running around with Jax, hunting their werewolf and scouring the forests, Dean was escaping the police and spent the afternoon in jail? It felt like Sam was missing out on more than just Dean's afternoon, but felt glad he wasn't in the same boat; if he was, then he and Jax would never have found the werewolf. Or better yet, Jax would've, and he still would have ended up dead. Sam felt the previous pang of empathy towards Jax, but pushed it closer down inside of him.

“You really trust them?” Sam asked, clearing his throat once Dean cast a look over his shoulder. “I mean, really? After they almost threw you in jail – no wait. Did throw you in jail?”

“Sounds crazy to me too,” Dean replied, tossing his old shirt off and switching to a newer, less mucky version of it. “And we know crazy.” He looked at Sam, finally pulling his arms through the sleeves. “But Jodie saved my hide back there; what else can they do?” Sam could think of a few things they could do, but ultimately Dean was in the right: they already had the law come down on them once, were they going to tempt a second time?

“If this goes south...” But Sam didn't know what he'd do if it did; probably follow Dean to hell and back.

Dean cast his signature grin to him, grabbing for Baby's keys, they jingled in his hand, and it was music to Sam's ears,

Later on:  
By the time they had pulled up to the doors of the Santa Barbara Police Department, the sun was already high in the sky and beating down through the threads of their jackets, causing the fabric to stick to their arms. Dean wished to go back to colder temperatures – maybe Vermont. They walked up the marble steps, pushing the large oaken doors as they swung open, and beginning their trek up the next flight of stairs. 

“Ah, there they are,” a woman's voice, the chief, spoke suddenly from an office in the middle of the madness that would be called an 'average work day.' She narrowly avoided running into a detective with files upon files in his arms as she stepped to the men. “Mr. and Mr. Winchester, it's good to see you on this side of the department.” She replied, Dean almost smiled at her joke, before he remembered the night before. Instead, he locked his eyes to continue looking at her mouth and focused on looking as sour as possible. She didn't budge from his sour look, and instead she turned to Sam. “I don't think we've met, Chief Vicks.” She held her hand, which the man gratuitously took, ignoring the piercing look from his brother. Thrown in jail or not, Sam still had manners. 4

“Sam Winchester.” He replied, shaking her hand once more. He let it go, letting the handle saddle back at his waist. “You...” He cleared his throat. “You called us here?” He asked. The detectives who called him sounded unsure themselves, as if they couldn't still tell if Dean and himself were the good guys; actually, Sam wondered that himself sometimes.

“Ah yes, it's not often we do this--”

“And by often, she means not ever. Shawn Spencer.” The sudden interruption caused both Dean and Sam to jolt from their currently relaxed position. The man who was stood before them was like Dean in both ego and looks, but with too much product in his hair. He was almost loud, and could be annoying, according to the brother.

But be it how annoying he was, both brothers already knew him in a way. Dean looked to Sam, he had no doubt his brother was thinking the same thing he was; was this guy really the one Jax was talking about?

“Dean Winchester, and this is my brother Sam.”  
“Ah yes,” the man suddenly announced, touching his finger to his temple in such an extravagant way it made Dean want to roll his eyes. “We spoke outside. The spirits were telling me that you were innocent. Weren't they Chief?”

The Chief, no doubt thoroughly embarrassed and at her wits end by the 'psychic's' premonitions, cleared her throat. “Mr. Spencer had a feeling that we'd be receiving a call from someone to clear you; whether you believe him or not is up to you – Mr. Spencer, however, is a prized member of the SBPD, and he would like to apologize to you as well.” She added, nodding for him to take the floor.

“The spirits and I would like to say we're sorry. The spirits – I mean people – talking to me today say that you've had a long night,” He ignored Dean whispering to his brother 'that's an understatement' and focused on apologizing, even if something felt uneasy with his sentences. Like just how clean the two were, as if they focused hard on getting rid of something. Evidence maybe? Maybe not. He sighed heavily, looking pained as he held his hand to his chest. “Yes, they're finally at rest... My work here is done.” His eyes locked with Gus, mouthing something along the lines of 'nailed it.' to the other.

Dean gave a look to Sam as if asking his brother if he really believed the crap Shawn was spewing; Sam didn't need to answer his with the look he had on his face. Sam didn't even know how someone like Shawn could trick a whole police department into believing it, either.

“Come on Gus, you're going to have to come out of hiding eventually. Besides! They're not murderers, actually... I think they helped us solve the case."  
“What?! Shawn, that's ridiculous. Besides, even if they did, I read somewhere the best murderers know other murderers.” Shawn paused, thinking for a second. Normally, Gus was always correct. “That doesn't seem right at all.”

“It was in Psychology Monthly!” His friend proudly declared, his eyes locking to Shawn's, but also noticing the way the two brothers turned his way. His stomach turned to lead as he felt it sinking, and he gripped onto Shawn's sleeve protectively. “They're looking this way...” He whispered from his clenched jaw.

“Uh yeah, because you're freaking out. Look, you're even beginning to freak me out. I got goose bumps.”

 

“Shut up, Shawn!” Gus hissed towards his friend, but he was, in fact, freaking out; he was just too proud to admit it. These two men could still be murders, and that's all that Gus cared about. How many times did Shawn have a good feeling about someone, then it turned out they tried killing the duo? Or tried robbing them, or tried killing--

“Gus, you're talking out loud again,” Shawn whispered to his friend. Gus's cheeks burned something fierce, but he chose to ignore it, only elbowing his friend in the gut. “Ow!” Shawn whined out, rubbing the sore spot. “You know I'm tender.” He complained, pouting at his friend, who chose to ignore that as well. “I'm going to have to put a plaster on that-- Gus, are you listening to me?”

“No. Your friends are coming over this way.” Gus said too quickly, and just as quickly stepped behind Shawn, watching over him protectively. The two brothers were approaching just as skeptically, both watching after the other.

“I'm sorry, did you say Psychology Monthly?” Sam 

“I use to read that all the time in Harvard.” Sam admitted.  
“You did _what _?” Dean asked with an incredulous expression.  
“ _You _went to Harvard? That was my dream school. Well, one of my dream schools.”____

Sam nodded, chuckling. “You can never have enough options. I was studying to be a lawyer, but,” he took a pause and looked away. “Family was more important to me.”

“Family is always important to me,” Gus replied, understanding fully well what Sam was going with. “I have some old copies--”

“Look, ladies it's great we're bonding and everything,” Dean interrupted, shoving his hands up. “And I mean really, I'm glad Sam made a friend.” Sam shot him a look of disdain. “But we have to get back on the road; business is calling.” Sam sighed a bit, and smiled to Dean. Business. Finally, they'd be on the road again.

Shawn interrupted, getting his words in edgewise. “Yeah, we know about business, buddy! We own our own business-- Hey! Maybe you should check us up on Facebook, and if you need any help, call us.” He added, grinning gleefully. Maybe they could get paid for once.

“Yeah,” Dean absentmindedly said, nodding. “We'll keep in touch.” He said through gritted teeth, forcing a grin. He and Shawn gave each other a congratulatory nod, though on Shawn's part it was mostly because: a) they just saved Santa Barbara and b) Shawn was pretty sure they used the same hair gel. As Shawn watched as the older Winchester entered the impala, he noted how sweet and pristine their ride was; any guy that took care of his car that well as good in Shawn's books.

“You know, I really think I'm going to miss those two.” He said as Lassie and Jules joined Gus and himself. “Especially Dean, I mean. Did you see him?”

Gus watched as well, his eyes focusing on the other of the duo. “I'm going to miss Sam,” Gus said. “He's careful, he's smart, and he doesn't rush in; he reminds me a lot of myself.”

“What? Gus, he's like a foot taller than you. You thought they were both killers!”  
“I never said I still didn't think they were serial killers. I still think they might be.” 

The two continued to watch their heroes depart; of course, not everyone shared their sentiments. “I won't miss them,” Carlton said, glaring at the backside of the impala. Something didn't sit right with him. “Let them go, we've got _real _cases to work on. Come on, O'Hara.” He looked towards his partner, although within a second he was walking to their car. Juliet shot Gus and Shawn an apologetic look, her legs already hurrying after the man who'd left a trail of smoke, practically.__

“Do you think we're ever going to see them again?” Gus asked Shawn.

Shawn didn't have an answer for that. But he did have a feeling that maybe in the distant future, they may; he didn't have to be a psychic to realize that. “Oh yeah. We're going to seem them again.”

For whatever reason, the hair on Gus's arms began prickling, as did the hair on his neck. “I don't like that look in your eyes, Shawn. What do you know-- Shawn!” Gus called after his friend as both walked away, the former trying to pressure Shawn into telling him. With a hearty purr in the afternoon air, the impala rolled down the street and towards their next case, Santa Barbara skies behind them.


End file.
